Raining Cats
by Ancalime8301
Summary: An extended bout of rain results in a cat being brought to Baker Street.


Written for the LiveJournal community Watsons_Woes for their July Writing Prompts challenge. The prompt for day 1 was: _a picture of cats sitting on a fence under an umbrella with water in the background._

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_Raining Cats_

The rain had been coming down in near Biblical proportions for three days and nights. The torrents kept the good folk of London-and the bad, too, much to Holmes' dismay-indoors and swelled the waterways until they threatened their banks. Even the gutters had become rushing rivers, their waters brimming with the detritus of the metropolis as the rain swept clean the streets and pavements.

For my part, I was thankful that the stormy weather meant I had no external obligations, for my old wound was reacting with its usual irritation to the unsettled atmosphere. I mostly kept to my desk or my chair by the fire, occasionally rising to do a circuit of the room in an attempt to keep my muscles from becoming too cramped. On each round, I peered out the front windows at the rain, noting that the outdoors looked increasingly soggy as the days dragged by. Holmes had thrown himself on the settee and if he ever moved, he did not do so until after I retired to bed.

I was concluding a round of the room when there was a ruckus at the front door. Several childish voices spoke over each other in excited tones, and I steered my steps toward the sitting room door, opening it just as three bedraggled boys reached the top of the stairs.

"Doctor, doctor, can you fix 'im?" one boy asked as the lead boy proffered a dirty towel bundle. The towel stirred and a very wet cat poked its nose out, whining pitifully.

"Put him down in front of the fire," I instructed. Mrs. Hudson belatedly followed the boys upstairs and handed me a stack of towels, which I accepted with thanks.

The boys were all crowded around the towel-wrapped cat in front of the fire, the third one having dragged my medical bag over. Even Holmes showed signs of interest and sat up on the settee and quietly told the boys to give the animal some space. I knelt beside the cat and carefully unwrapped it; the obvious point of concern was a sluggishly bleeding wound on the cat's flank, but the small orange tabby was also very scrawny and soaked to the skin.

"We found 'im in the gutter," the lead boy offered while I prodded at the wound. The cat stirred and meowed weakly in protest, but did not pull away.

I used some of my bandage strips to clean the wound and the fur around it in order to determine the depth and severity; I concluded that it wasn't deep enough to require stitches-fortunate, since I didn't think the cat would hold still under the needle-but would benefit from a few days of observation. I ran my hands over the rest of the cat's body to determine if there were any other injuries and found none. By the time I removed my hands, the cat was purring with pleasure at my touch.

"He should be all right, he mostly needs good food," I told the boys who were still hovering anxiously. "We can keep him here for a few days, to be sure. It was good of you to bring him in." I covered him with another one of the towels and rubbed gently to help his fur dry.

"He was crying something awful," the first boy said. "We couldn't just leave 'im."

Holmes sent the boys downstairs to ask Mrs. Hudson for tea and sandwiches, then came to loom over me. The cat looked up at him and meowed.

"You have acquired a kitten," Holmes said blandly.

"What makes you think he's a kitten? He's small, yes, but not that small," I said, choosing not to comment on his statement that I have acquired him.

"His ears are out of proportion with his head," he said. "It is likely he is not yet his full adult size."

"Which could be a result of malnourishment, not age," I countered. Holmes grunted in disagreement but didn't argue further. Soon after, I gave up on towel-drying the cat, as his fur continually seemed damp no matter how much I rubbed. Mrs. Hudson brought up a bit of food for him-no milk, to my surprise, just small bites of meat-and he eagerly ate, then groomed his paws and face before curling up before the fire on one of the dry towels.

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After three days passed, the cat was evidently doing much better, for he was something of a nuisance, poking his whiskered nose into everything within his reach and nearly causing several incidents with Holmes' belongings. The cut was scabbed over and healing nicely, and the rain had finally ceased, so Holmes began to insinuate that there was no reason to continue hosting the furry creature.

And yet when it came to carrying him down and setting him outside, I could not close the door on him. He looked out at the street, then stared up at me with unblinking eyes. When I didn't turn away or shut the door, he rubbed himself against my trousers, purring loudly. I closed my eyes and heaved a deep sigh, trying to steel myself for what must be done, and by the time I opened them again, the cat had wandered back inside. I followed him.

Holmes offered to have one of his Irregulars take the cat and deposit it elsewhere in the city, but I couldn't agree to that. The little orange fellow would look at me with his wide, pale green eyes and purr and I had to conclude Holmes' initial statement was correct: I had, indeed, acquired a cat.


End file.
